


Are We Living In The Darkness (Do We Listen To The Light)

by MYuzuki



Series: Batfam Week 2018 [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: (...why is that not already a tag???), (he's trying at least), Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bat Family, Batfam Week 2018, Batfamily Feels, Brothers, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Days 3 and 4 of Batfam Week 2018, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jason Todd is a good brother, bfw2018, bfw2k18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MYuzuki/pseuds/MYuzuki
Summary: Sometimes, one decision can change everything.(Or: Jason decides to return to Gotham not for revenge, but to give Damian a chance at a better life away from the League of Assassins.)





	Are We Living In The Darkness (Do We Listen To The Light)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! Sorry for seemingly skipping Day 3 of Batfam Week (Homecoming), but since my ficlet for it also falls under the theme of Day 4 (AU) I decided to hold off on posting it til today. XD Of course, technically my Day 5 (Time-travel) ficlet falls under the AU heading as well (because time-travel ;P), but whatever. XD Basically, I was inspired by a post on Tumblr (which I will post a link to as soon as I find it again, lol), which features a concept where Jason comes back to Gotham after being tossed into the Lazarus Pit, but with Damian in tow (and minus the immediate murder attempts of his siblings and father).
> 
> Also, just FYI: Damian is probably horrifically OOC in this. Let's chalk it up to Talia being in his life more and Jason actually meeting him before he gets dumped on Bruce, shall we? I mean, it is an AU anyway. ;D Of course, that doesn't explain why everyone else is also OOC, but oh well. XD

**Are We Living In The Darkness (Do We Listen To The Light)**

* * *

 

Jason isn't sure why Talia decides to let him leave. He  _really_  isn't sure why she lets him take her son with him when he goes.

Maybe it's because she doesn't believe him when he says he's not going back to Gotham to get revenge on Bruce for replacing him and not avenging his death. Or maybe it's because she  _does_  believe him, and thinks that Damian can help in some way. There's no way for him to know; he can't get a read on her motives at all, even after all the months spent in her company since he'd first regained his sense of self.

Is she banking on the Lazarus Pit's effects to turn him into a vicious monster that will try to bring down Batman and allow Talia to bring the League into Gotham? Because he can feel it there, that  _taint_ , running under his skin like a live-wire. It's rushing through his veins even now, making his ears buzz and his heart pound in his chest.

And even worse, he can feel it twisting his thoughts. It's aggravating his natural anger and impatience, and further complicating his already complicated feelings towards Bruce.

(Bruce who had  _replaced him_. Bruce who had let the Joker  _get away with his murder_.)

And there's no way Talia doesn't know how the Pit's affecting him; her father has been using the Pit for centuries, after all, so she's well aware of its side effects.

So why the hell would she let a recently-resurrected former-Robin with possible Pit-madness take her firstborn son, an assassin-in-training and the grandson of Ra's al Ghul himself, away from the security of an impenetrable hidden compound? It makes no logical sense whatsoever; there's no tactical benefit in it.

It occurs to him, after remembering the harsh training he'd seen Damian going through, that maybe (just maybe) she's letting him leave and take Damian because she wants them both to get out of the League while the getting's good.

(There's also the not-so-small matter of Damian being Bruce's biological son, but Jason's made an executive decision to not worry about that right now, because otherwise he's just going to give himself a massive headache.

He still can't believe that Bruce knocked up  _Talia al Ghul_ of all people. Unbelievable.)

In any case, it takes Jason a considerable amount of effort, but once they finally reach a larger city he does manage to get passable fake IDs for himself and the little assassin brat (the kid really is  _completely_  insufferable sometimes, but Jason's doing his best to be patient; not an easy feat with the Pit making him so twitchy, but he's  _trying_ ) under the names Todd and Derek Walters. Not the best false IDs or aliases he's ever had, but they'll do for what he and the kid need so he takes them.

"Why is Mother sending us away?" Damian asks once they've purchased two one-way tickets to Gotham and settled down to wait for their flight to board. "Did I….did I do something wrong in training? Is this some sort of punishment?"

Jason just kind of stares at him for a moment, at a loss. He has to take a moment to remind himself that for all the viciousness he's seen from this kid during his training fights, he's still just a kid. Still just…what, nine years old? Ten, maybe?

A ten year-old kid who has just been taken away his home, taken away from the only parent he's only known.

 _I really did not think this through enough_ , Jason laments to himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to push back the Lazarus taint that's trying to worm its way into his thoughts; he needs to be lucid and in control if he's going to have any real luck talking to Damian.

"We're not going to Gotham because you did something wrong," Jason says, picking his words carefully. "From what I saw, your League training was…going well." He keeps his tone neutral, because at this point he's hardly in any position to judge. Before he'd decided to return to Gotham, he'd undergone some League training as well, at Talia's insistence; he'd even done a brief stint with the All-Caste. He still doesn't know why she'd suggested it in the first place, but there was no denying the fact that killing had been an inescapable part of that training. Sure, he'd been killing only the worst sorts of people, but still.

(He'd actually been considering furthering his training, maybe asking Talia to find him other teachers that could better help him to expand his skill-set, but then….then he'd caught a glimpse of Talia's son, a fresh bruise on his cheek and blood on his lips from a hit he'd taken during a training match.

Right then and there he'd decided that he could shelve his own issues for the time-being. He might want Bruce to pay for not avenging him, but he's not going to prioritize that over giving Talia's son a chance to live a life free from the League of Assassins.

Of course, only time will tell if Damian himself will actually appreciate a life away from the League, but that's a problem for another day.)

"So then why?" Damian demands now, looking at him with both anger and fear in his gaze. "Why send me away? Why is she trying to get rid of me?"

"She's not trying to get rid of you," Jason says immediately, because he knows that it's true. Talia loves her son with everything she has; he'd seen it in her face when she'd stepped aside to let him leave with Damian. "She wants you to be safe."

Damian scowls at him, an expression that is no doubt supposed to be fierce…if not for the baby fat lingering in his cheeks, which make it look more like a pout. "The compound we were at was perfectly safe. No one has ever breached it, not in the entire history of the League."

"That's….not really the kind of safe I meant," Jason replies, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. "Look," he says suddenly, deciding to change tactics, "did your mother ever tell you about your father?"

Damian perks up instantly. "Bruce Wayne," he says immediately. Then, in a low whisper, "Batman."

Jason nods. "And where does Bruce Wayne live?" he prompts.

"...Gotham," Damian answers, realization dawning. "We're going to see Father?"

Jason tries to be unaffected by how blatantly excited the brat seems at the prospect of meeting his father, but can't quite find it in himself to be indifferent. "Yep," he says. "I'm going to take you to him. We might not get a very warm welcome," he adds in warning. "Remember, your mother never told Bruce anything about you, so a ten year old son appearing out of nowhere is probably going to be a huge shock for him. He's probably going to be an asshole about it," Jason tacks on. "Don't take it personally; that's just how he is sometimes when he has to deal with pesky things like emotions."

Damian seems to consider this for a moment, then nods. "I understand," he says, but then looks at Jason with an unreadable expression on his face. "However…"

Jason frowns at him. "However what?"

"It's just…if he'll react poorly just to seeing me, what will happen when he sees you? He believes you to be dead still, does he not?"

( _Dead and unavenged_ , a green-tinged voice whispers in the back of his mind, but he shuts it down.)

In response to Damian's observation, all Jason can do is offer a shrug. "No reason for him to suspect otherwise, no. As things stand, though, the surprise of me being alive is far from the worst thing I  _could_  do to him, especially since I only came out of the Pit a few months ago, so I'm not too fussed about it."

( _Hurt him_ , the acidic voice in his head whispers.  _Make him suffer and bleed and then_ _ **destroy**_ _him.)_

Jason clenches his jaw so hard that he can practically feel his back molars starting to crack. "You've got your ticket ready?" he asks Damian as the PA system blares to life to announce that their flight is boarding.

"Of course I have it ready," Damian snaps, jumping to his feet. "You do not need to micromanage me, you know, I am not a child."

Jason huffs out a short sigh and barely refrains from rolling his eyes. "I hate to break it to you, kid, but you actually are,  _by definition_ , a child."

This observation earns him a sharp kick to the shin that has him cursing under his breath and ignoring the scandalized looks from the elderly married couple that's passing them on their way to the luggage carousel.

"Damian," he hisses, but the brat's already striding away, ticket clenched in one hand and his small knapsack of belongings in the other. " _Damian_."

"If you dawdle too long we will miss our flight," the kid calls out over his shoulder, words sharp enough to cut.

 _All because I reminded him that he's still a child_ , Jason muses, not sure if he should be annoyed or amused. "You need to slow down and stay with me," he says, lengthening his strides to catch up. "Someone your age on their own is going to attract more attention from airport security."

"So?"

"So, your mother didn't exactly ask your grandfather's permission before sending us off. I wouldn't be surprised if he has people bribed to look out for any suspicious behavior, which means until we're safe in Gotham we need to  _not attract attention_. And ten year olds alone in airports attract attention, kid, that's just the way it is."

Damian huffs out an irritated breath but obediently slows his pace a little. "Fine," he says grudgingly. Then, in a lower tone, "Is Grandfather going to be angry? That Mother enabled our departure?"

Well, shit. There was no good answer to  _that_  question. "I think that he may be…unhappy with her decision at first, yeah," Jason hedges. "But I'm sure she'll be able to convince him that it's for the best in the long run." Talia could be very persuasive when she put her mind to it, after all, protecting her son should give her plenty of motivation for it.

Damian still looks uncertain, but doesn't say anything else on the subject as they pass through the security check (not triggering any red alerts somehow even though Jason is absolutely positive that the kid has something sharp secreted away on his person somewhere) and board their flight.

"Welcome aboard," a flight attendant says, taking their tickets for a moment to check the information. "Looks like you're in the Economy Plus section," she tells them. "Seats F7 and E7. Head all the way down to the front of this section and your seats will be across from the restrooms on the right-hand side. And feel free to let me know if you need anything at all during the flight."

Damian gives the woman a haughty look complete with an arched eyebrow, but Jason quickly grabs his hand and starts towing him down the aisle before he can say something rude that'll get them into trouble. "Thank you for your help," he calls back over his shoulder.

"Let go of me," Damian hisses, trying to yank his hand away. "Stop treating me like a child!"

 _Stop acting like a brat, then_ , is what Jason wants to say but doesn't. Instead, he asks "Do you want the middle seat or the window seat?"

Damian blinks at him, nonplussed by the non-sequitur response. "…Window seat," he says finally, which is a tremendous relief to Jason, since he'd rather put himself between Damian and the rest of the passengers anyway.

"Awesome," Jason says, ushering the kid into the appropriate row and plunking him down into his seat. "Now, this flight is twelve hours long, okay? That means you need to behave and not do anything that will draw too much attention to us while we're here, because there's literally nowhere to go to get away once we're up in the air."

Damian scowls at him. "Between the two of us, I think the one with the  _streak of white hair_  is by far more attention-grabbing."

Jason makes a face and tugs at his bangs self-consciously. "It's not like I did this on purpose, you know," he grumbles. "It's a stupid Pit side-effect." Then he shakes his head with a sigh. "Look, just  _try_ to be a nice, normal kid for a little while, okay?"

If anything, Damian's scowl intensifies. "How am I supposed to do that?" he asks, looking annoyed. "I am Ibn al Xu'ffasch, Son of the Bat and heir to my grandfather's empire.  _That_  is what's normal for me."

Jason wonders if it's too late to throw himself into oncoming traffic to get out of this.  _Probably_ , he thinks. Talia would likely just appear out of thin air to shove him back into a Pit again, and then back onto a plane with Damian anyway, rendering any such effort moot.

"Look," he says to the kid now, "I get that you're the precious heir to the League of Assassins. But what you need to understand is that we're heading to a place where that status is not going to be much of a benefit to you. Bruce doesn't approve of killing people, kid, and while he comes from money and a respectable family he doesn't act like an entitled ass eighty percent of the time like you do."

Damian crosses his arms over his chest. "What exactly are you saying?" he demands defensively. "That I should pretend to be someone I'm not to get people to like me? Act meekly to gain my father's approval?"

"No," Jason replies, trying not to let his frustration show on his face. "All I'm saying is that you should tone it down a little, alright? Not permanently," he adds hastily, seeing the mutinous look on Damian's face, "and not even that much. But at least for the twelve hours we're stuck on this flight,  _please_ try to not stand out. We're trying to be discreet, remember?"

Damian considers his words for a long moment. "…so it's like a training exercise," he says finally. "Blend in with the crowd. Become an anonymous face in a sea of faces."

Jason stifles a groan. _Like a training exercise._  "Not exactly what I meant, but sure. Let's go with that."

Damian nods gravely, like he's accepting a serious assignment, and then quickly busies himself by pulling a book out of his knapsack and flipping it open.

Jason leans back and thumps his head gently against the headrest of his seat.  _This_ , he thinks to himself,  _is going to be the longest flight of my life_.

* * *

They land in Gotham the next day, and by the time they stumble off the flight Jason and Damian are both so tired and jet-lagged that they don't even bicker as they hail a taxi and head for the closest motel.

Damian makes a dissatisfied face when he sees the dingy room that they'll be spending the night in, but otherwise doesn't give any reaction other than crawling into his bed and burying his face in a pillow.

Jason kind of wants to mimic that action right away, but he's the responsible adult here, so he takes the time to scout out the room, checking the security of the door and windows before finally setting up a few quick defensive traps that should keep them safe while they sleep.

(Not that he's  _expecting_  trouble, precisely, but it pays to be prepared.)

Once he's comfortable with the room's protections, he goes over to flop onto his own bed, sleep already pulling him down into darkness.

Of course, sleep isn't the respite it used be. Instead, his mind is a nightmare landscape tinged in acid green and littered with exploding warehouses and blood-covered crowbars, with a horrifying soundtrack of insane laughter fading in and out as he struggles to wake up from an infinite loop of the worst day of his life.

It's a sharp stinging sensation in his left cheek that finally jolts him awake, and as soon as his vision clears he sees Damian above him, brows drawn down into an anxious frown as he sits there with one hand raised into the air.

"...did you just slap me?" Jason asks, his voice hoarse.

( _Why does my throat feel like I gargled with gravel?_  he wonders)

"You were screaming in your sleep," Damian tells him, eyes wide and dark, his young face both solemn and frightened.

"Ah," is all Jason can manage to say in response. _That explains my throat at least._  "Sorry I woke you up," he offers up after a moment when Damian makes no move to step away from the bed.

The looks the kid levels him with can only be described as incredulous. "You were crying out like you were being eviscerated and you're apologizing to me?"

Jason struggles into n upright position and scrubs a hand across his face. "Well, yeah. I woke you up, didn't I?"

"Yes, but…" Damian bites down on his lower lip, looking indecisive about something. "Are you…well?" he finally asks after a long period of stilted silence, his voice much more hesitant than Jason is used to.

Jason stares at him stupidly for a moment, and then gives a sharp bark of laughter. "Uh, no. No, I am not 'well'." He considers his words carefully and then speaks again. "How much did your mother tell you about me?"

Damian frowns. "Not very much," he admits. "She said that you used to work with Father, and that you were killed. And that she put you into one of Grandfather's Lazarus Pits to fully restore you."

"Mm," Jason responds. "So she gave you the Cliff Notes version, okay." He takes a deep breath, pushing back the echoes of manic laughter still lingering at the edges of his mind. "I was murdered by the Joker. Do you know who that is?" At Damian's nod, he continued. "Right. Well, even though I'm alive again now, what happened that day is still affecting me."

Damian gives him a confused look. "But the Lazarus Pits are infallible. If Mother put you in, then all of your injuries should have been-"

"It's not the physical stuff that's affecting me," Jason says gently, cutting him off. "It's what's up here." He taps the side of his head lightly. "I know your grandfather shakes off death like a duck shakes water from its feathers, but I…I'm having a harder time with it. It doesn't help that my death was a messy one," he adds, a bitter smile turning up one corner of his mouth as he remembers the crowbar coming down on him again, and  _again_ , and _ **again**_.

"That's why you were screaming in your sleep," Damian realizes, eyes somehow going even wider than before. "You were remembering."

Jason nods. "Yeah." He huffs out a short sigh. "It's not always that bad, but tonight was definitely not the most restful even by my admittedly low standards. I am serious about being sorry for waking you up, though," he adds. "It was a long flight for you, too, and the last thing you need is a screaming lunatic waking you up in the middle of the night."

Damian rolls his eyes. "Stop apologizing," he grumbles. "It's annoying."

Jason snorts in amusement before he can stop himself.  _Maybe this kid isn't so bad after all_ , he thinks. Honestly, for someone raised in the League he seems fairly decent, probable murderous tendencies aside.

"...can I ask you something?" Damian asks suddenly.

"Go for it," Jason says easily.

"What did Father do?" he questions. "In response to your death, I mean."

Jason sucks in a sharp breath and has to count  _very_  slowly to ten before he responds. "Well, he buried me. Threw the Joker back in jail. Got a new sidekick," he adds, and he can't keep the bitterness and pain out of his tone no matter how hard he tries.

Damian makes a sound like he's been kicked. "He let the Joker live?!" he says, sounding outraged. "He should have killed that clown the very same day to avenge you!"

A large part of Jason emphatically agrees with the sentiment, but he's trying to _not_  succumb to the murderous impulses that the Pit's taint is encouraging. "That's not how Batman operates," he says instead, even though the words taste like ash and blood on his tongue. "His most important rule is to not kill. Not for any reason."

"But the Joker killed  _you_ ," Damian snaps. "Surely if there was ever a time for him to embrace a permanent solution to that psychopath's rampage, that would have been the moment for it!"

Jason shrugs. "Personally, I agree; killing the Joker would ensure that he could never hurt another person. But Bruce doesn't kill, and nothing you and I think, say, or do will ever change that. It's the one line he won't cross, kid, so I suggest you try to accept that now."

(When Jason had been fresh from the Pit, he'd vaguely entertained the notion of forcing Bruce into a situation where he'd have to do it, where he'd have to kill the Joker.

But the period of time since then, particularly the time spent focusing on Damian instead of on his own feelings of betrayal, had allowed him to gain a bit more clarity on the issue, at least enough to understand that as much as the Joker  _deserves_  to be killed, it's never going to be Bruce who does it.

Jason's still not entirely sure how he feels about that other than frustrated and melancholy, but he's at least closer to accepting it now than he was before.)

Damian doesn't reply immediately, lapsing into another bout of silence. "…but I'm an assassin," he says after a moment. "And you've spent the last few months training as an assassin as well. Can Father really accept us if we're killers?" And then, in a smaller voice, "What if he wants nothing to do with me?"

Jason leans over and wraps the kid in a hug before he can over-think it. "Aw, don't be stupid," he says, squeezing Damian's shoulder lightly. "You're his son, Damian. Of course he's going to want to know you. I'm sure Dickiebird will be happy to meet you, too," he adds. "He and I never really had a chance to be brothers, but he did try towards the end so I expect he'll be plenty welcoming to you."

"Dickiebird?" Damian echoes, looking perplexed.

"Dick Grayson," Jason clarifies. "He was the original Robin, before me. And before…the new guy," Jason finishes, because he still can't bring himself to say his replacement's name; the hurt of being replaced is still too great, the wound far too fresh. "His parents were killed when he was about your age, and Bruce took him in. He's all grown up now, though; last I heard he was still in Bludhaven operating as Nightwing."

Damian makes a considering sound, but doesn't comment.

"Anyway, we'll head over to the Manor tomorrow. Or," Jason glances at the bedside clock, "later today, I guess. Shit." He rub his eyes tiredly. "Is it really already two in the morning?" he asks with a groan.

Damian smirks a bit at his over-dramatic response. "It is," he confirms. "We should try to get more rest if we're to be at our best when meeting with Father. It won't do for us to be sleep-deprived when we see him."

"Eh, I wouldn't worry about it," Jason says, flapping a hand dismissively. "Bruce is sleep deprived about ninety-seven percent of the time himself, he's just gotten good at faking functionality. And even then he can only pull it off successfully after drinking two cups of coffee." He notices a strange look cross Damian's face. "What's wrong, kid?"

"Nothing," he replies. "It's just…the way Mother and Grandfather talk about Father, it makes him seem…bigger. Like some sort of invincible warrior with no flaws. You talk about him differently, like he's…"

"Like he's a flesh and blood human being?" Jason guesses. "Yeah, kid, that's because he is. Don't get me wrong, he's an incredible person. He goes out every night to make Gotham a safer place so that fewer kids have to go through what he did when his parents were murdered. He took in Dick as his ward because he saw a little boy who'd lost everything just like he did. Hell, he even adopted me after I jacked three tires off the Batmobile."

Damian openly gapes at him. " _No_ ," he says, sounding torn between being horrified and being awestruck.

"Yep," Jason says, grinning widely because even all these years later that moment  _still_  fills him with pride. "The only reason he even caught me is because I got greedy and went back for the last tire."

Damian gives an undignified snort of laughter. "That's insane," he says. "What were you thinking?"

Jason shrugs carelessly. "Honestly? That they were nice tires and that I could get a lot of money for them.  _Anyway_ ," he goes on, "my original point with this is that Bruce is indeed an incredible man. But he still is just that: a man. He's not superhuman; he has flaws and makes mistakes just like anybody else. There are gonna be times when you get angry at him and think he's being stupid," Jason adds. "And that's okay, because sometimes he  _is_  being stupid. Look," he concludes, "all I'm saying is that you'll probably need to be patient, okay? He's not whatever paragon of epicness that Talia told you about; he's mostly just a guy trying to do his best. But he's a good dad, too, once you get to know him."

( _He was a better father to me than Willis Todd ever was_ , is what he doesn't say, but that doesn't change the truth of it. Things may have ended badly, but Bruce had given Jason everything he'd ever needed; acceptance, support, encouragement. A purpose.

He'd gone to his first baseball game thanks to Bruce. He'd managed to go back to school and not just catch up with his peers but surpass them despite years of living on the streets after his mother had overdosed.

He'd finally felt like he was part of a family, that he had a place he could call home again, all thanks to Bruce.)

"Noted," Damian replies, and he does look thoughtful now, so Jason's willing to take it as a win. "I will try to be patient with him, even if he is obtuse and difficult at times."

Jason grins again. "Atta boy," he says approvingly, reaching out to ruffle the kid's hair and laughing when Damian shoots him a murderous glare. "Now, go back to bed. I'll wake you when it's time to go."

Damian nods and hops down off of Jason's bed, but hesitates before returning to the other side of the room. "What about you?" he asks.

"I think I'll spare us both from another of my screaming nightmare fits," Jason replies. "Don't make that face," he says seriously when Damian looks at him worriedly. "I have some stuff I need to get ready anyway, so it's probably for the best that you woke me when you did."

Damian gives him the dubious look that statement deserves, but apparently decides to not argue the point since he simply clambers back into his bed and crawls back under the covers. "Don't let me oversleep," he says, and to anyone who hasn't spent time with the kid it might sound haughty and commanding, but Jason knows better by now; that's the voice Damian uses to make people listen to him when he thinks they won't otherwise, because it's the voice his grandfather uses for the same thing.

So Jason just nods and says "Of course not," and watches with a small smile as Damian nods in satisfaction before burrowing back down under the covers,until the only remaining sign of his presence is his spiky black hair.

Jason, meanwhile, leans back against the headboard of his own bed and risks another glance at the bedside clock.  _2:17am_ , the display says now and Jason swallows down another groan. That gives him a minimum of five hours to sit in the dark and stew in his worries about all the ways this homecoming can go wrong.

He wonders if it isn't too late to book another flight to some tropical island and just take Damian on a nice relaxing vacation trip instead.

* * *

In the five hours it takes for daybreak to arrive, Jason comes up with thirty-six different plans of varying complexity for how to approach Bruce.

They range from straightforward to downright absurd, and as he ushers Damian into the bathroom to shower and get changed it belatedly occurs to him that the reason he can't come up with a plan that he actually likes is because there aren't actually any good options for how to handle this situation. There's hardly a manual for coming back to life, after all, and there's certainly no guide for bringing a new sibling with you when you finally go back home.

In end, Jason decides to opt for what is very likely the most straightforward option possible given the circumstances.

"Are you sure that this is the best course of action?" Damian asks doubtfully as they exit their taxi forty minutes later. "Surely there is a better way to go about this than simply ringing the doorbell."

"Probably," Jason agrees, watching idly as the taxi zooms away, back down the long driveway. Then he nudges Damian in the direction of the stairs leading to the Manor entrance. "But this is going to be messy no matter what we do, so a direct approach seems like the best option, don't you think?"

Damian gives him a look that very clearly states that he's questioning both Jason's sanity and his own for going along with this plan. "What are you going to say to him when he answers the door?" he asks after a brief moment of vaguely judgmental silence.

"Well, unless something really drastic has happened within the last few months, we can count on the fact that Bruce will  _not_  be answering his own door. It'll be Alfred," he explains, noticing Damian's confused expression. "I told you about him, remember? He's the one who raised Bruce after his parents were killed, and he's basically the most sane and reliable human being on the planet. Anyway, talking to Alfred first should be easier than going straight to Bruce," he adds. "Alfred is less emotionally constipated than Bruce is, at least, so at least we'll know where we stand with him once we've explained things."

Damian seems to consider this information, then nods. "Is he likely to…respond well to our visit?" he questions, looking momentarily uncertain. "Or will he not believe that we are who we say we are?"  _What if he doesn't allow us to see Father_ , is what he doesn't say, but Jason can see it written all over his face, from the way he's chewing on his lower lip again to the way his eyebrows are starting to scrunch down.

"I dunno," Jason says honestly, because Alfred may be one the most incredible people he's ever had the fortune of knowing, but there's no way to predict how he'll react to  _this_. "Let's find out," he says, and reaches out to ring the doorbell, doing his best to ignore the icy swooping sensation in his stomach.

It only takes about a minute for the door to swing open to reveal Alfred, who looks pretty much exactly how Jason remembers him (a few more wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, maybe, but that's about it).

The sight of him makes Jason's brain stall out completely, and he can't recall a single one of his prepared greetings. "Uh….hey," is all he manages to stammer out at first, feeling like a scruffy teenager all over again. A quick kick to his ankle from Damian jolts him out of his stupor, though, and he manages to rally his few functioning brain cells back into action. "So, uh, I know it's been a couple years and I don't exactly look the same, so I won't blame you if you don't recognize me, but-"

Alfred cuts him off. "Master Jason?" he says, his voice cracking as he stares at Jason in open shock.

Jason resists the urge to duck his head and hide like a little kid. "Hey, Alfie," he mumbles. "Long time no see. I, uh…" He has no idea how to phrase it so it doesn't sound awful, so he just says, "I'm not dead anymore, so…yeah." That earns him another kick to the ankle, and he turns to scowl at Damian. "Hey, I'm doing my best here, okay?"

Damian clicks his tongue in annoyance. "This is far from your best," he grumbles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Alfred seems to notice Damian's presence for the first time, and seems to latch onto this new development as a means of delaying a conversation about Jason, Jason's death, and how Jason has come to be standing on the front doorstep of Wayne Manor after being buried and mourned. "And who might this be?" he asks, arching one eyebrow expectantly, his shaken expression from earlier buried underneath years of practice at maintaining the world's most stoic poker face.

"This is Damian," Jason replies, lightly tugging Damian forward by the elbow. "He's Talia's son," he tells Alfred, which gets him a faint twitch in response. "And also Bruce's," he adds, which earns him two raised eyebrows and a slight tremble of the mustache.

"My word," is all Alfred says at first, then he lets out a small shaky chuckle.. "Trust you to deliver two striking revelations at once, Master Jason." He shakes his had with a wry smile. "Well, I suppose the two of you should come inside, then. After all, I can't leave two young masters standing on the doorstep, can I?" He steps aside and ushers them in. "Master Bruce is in his study," Alfred tells them as he closes the door and leads them deeper into the Manor. "Master Jason, I trust you remember where it is?" At Jason's affirmative nod, he continues. "In that case, you and Master Damian may proceed onward while I fetch some refreshments."

Jason starts to nod again, then switches to shaking his head. "Wait, what? You're not coming with us? Alfie, I can't just drag Damian into his study and say 'Surprise, here's your newest son! And by the way, I'm not dead anymore'!"

"Of course not, Master Jason," Alfred says. "You and Master Damian can enter into your father's study  _sedately_  and impart the information  _with a modicum of tact_."

Jason stares at him flatly. "Since when have I ever been tactful, Alfie," he says, and it's definitely not a question.

Alfred just arches his eyebrow again, saying nothing.

Jason relents immediately. "Fine, fine," he grumbles. "I'll try not give him a heart attack, at least."

"Very good, Master Jason," Alfred replies, his voice as dry as the Atacama Desert as he turns around and heads for the kitchen.

Jason stares after him in something akin to despair. "So much for him being a buffer between us and Bruce," he laments, even as he admits to himself that hiding behind Alfred would have been a childish approach (albeit probably a more successful one than this new plan of walk-in-and-just-say-it will be).

Damian snorts in amusement, but looks a bit worried as well. "Is it really alright for us to disturb Father if he's in his study? Won't he be busy with work?"

Jason gives the kid a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Nah, it'll be totally fine. Honestly, he could probably use a break; staring at spreadsheets for too long bores him to tears, though he'll never actually say so."

"I don't think our appearance will qualify as 'a break'," Damian counters, but he seems slightly mollified so Jason counts it as a win.

"Well, either way it's too late to turn back now," Jason says, injecting some false cheer into his voice. "Let's sally forth unto the study, shall we?"

Damian rolls his eyes but trails after Jason as he makes his way through the halls of the manor. If he notices the way Jason lingers in certain places and stares at certain things a little longer than normal, he doesn't say anything, and Jason is grateful for that; he wants to play at being unaffected, but the Manor was his home, and returning to it after dying has given him a new appreciation for the place.

(Not that he'd ever taken anything in the Manor for granted; no, being a Crime Alley kid hadn't given him the luxury of taking things for granted, period. But being brutally killed and then somehow miraculously resurrected has left Jason with even more appreciation for the things he'd left behind.)

After a short while, they reach the entrance into Bruce's main study. Jason hesitates, torn between the desire to just burst in and a panicky feeling that makes him want to bolt for the closest window and flee.

In the end, it's Damian's presence that steels his resolve; even if Bruce doesn't care that Jason's back (and since he's already replaced him as Robin, it's entirely possible that he won't) he still needs to know that he has another son. And more importantly, Damian deserves to meet his father. Hell, the kid n _eeds_  to meet his father.

(And Jason won't admit it out loud, not yet, but  _he_  needs his dad, too.)

He knocks on the study door.

"Come in," a deep voice calls out, and the familiarity of it makes Jason's heart pound in his chest.

 _Well, here we go_ , he thinks, and opens the door.

* * *

Bruce is in the middle of reviewing a stack of R & D project proposals when someone knocks on the door of his study. He initially assumes it's Alfred coming back to try to get him to take a break again, just as he's been doing throughout the morning.

(After all, Tim's away with the Titans right now and Dick's in Bludhaven, so  _logically_ the only possibility is Alfred.)

"Come in," he calls out automatically, skimming through a page of cost projections for a new type of aerial drone that one of the company researchers wants to start building. He frowns at a section of particularly contradictory accounting before finally glancing up.

It is not Alfred in the doorway.

He's startled enough by that alone (how did someone else even get into the Manor in the first place?), but the fact that the tallest person of the two has Jason's face (has  _his dead son's face_ ) is what has him freezing in place as his heart pounds out an uneven rhythm in his chest.

"Who are you?" he demands, the words spilling out of his mouth in a harsh tone before he has a chance to think beyond his knee-jerk reaction of who the hell has the gall to try an impersonation like this?

The flinch that both figures in the door give is entirely unexpected, and it makes him hesitate for a moment, his initial flash of fury and pain subsiding just enough for him to be able to look more closely at the two of them without wanting to fling something heavy across the room.

It's true that the taller one looks like Jason…but a Jason that's older than he'd been at his death. This imposter is at least seventeen or eighteen, two years old at least than Jason had been when the joker had killed him. And then there's that streak of pure white hair and that green tint to his eyes…Bruce doesn't understand what he's seeing, but it can't be Jason. He buried Jason.

He flickers his gaze over to the imposter's young companion instead. Almost definitely under the age of twelve, the boy has black hair, olive skin tone, blue eyes…and there's something almost familiar in the angle of his cheekbones and the set of his jaw, but Bruce can't quite put a finger on why it's familiar. In any case, the most distinctive thing about the boy by far is his facial expression; it's calm and distant, even as a tempest rages in his gaze.

"Who are you?" Bruce asks again, suspicion now tempered with the faintest hint of curiously.

The boy glances up at not-Jason questioningly, his expression cracking a bit as what seems to be genuine anxiety bleeds through.

The teenager himself, meanwhile, gives Bruce a look that half hurt and half annoyed. "Come on, B," he says, and his voice cuts straight through Bruce like a sharpened blade because  _he knows that voice_ , "I know I've been dead for a while, but you can't possibly have forgotten about me."

 _Never_ , Bruce wants to say but doesn't. _I could never forget you._

(He doesn't say it because there's no way that this is real; it's impossible for it to be real, no matter how badly he wants it to be, and so he traps the words and buries them down deep. There's no point saying them to a fake, after all.)

"Perhaps coming here was not a wise decision," the younger boy says now, muscles tensing up like he's preparing to fight. "Look at his face; he isn't going to believe you. Believe us."

"Too late to turn back now," not-Jason responds, his tone flippant even as his expression remains serious. And those eyes may have the faintest tint of acidic green, but Bruce recognizes that look. No one else could look at him that way, with that particular combination of hope, wariness, and resignation.

(He hasn't seen that look in years.

He hadn't thought to ever see it again.)

"Who are you?" Bruce asks again, because they say that the third time is the charm, right? But this time his voice is shaking just ever so slightly, set off-kilter by the sharp flare of foolish hope that bubbling up in his chest.

"Bruce, for fuck's sake," Jason says, openly glaring at him now. "I didn't come back to life and haul my PTSD-ridden ass back to Gotham from halfway around the world to put up with this kind of shit. It's me, Jason. Yes, the real me; not a clone, not an imposter, not some idiot in a bad disguise. Not Clayface, either, in case that was your next question," he adds, rolling his eyes when Bruce scowls at him. "That was going to be your next guess, admit it."

Bruce will absolutely not admit it…even if it's the truth. Instead, he crosses his arms. "You," he says in a carefully empty tone, "are dead. I  _buried_  you. I mourned you. I still  _am_  mourning you."

"Could have fooled me given that Robin replacement you've got hopping across rooftops with you, but whatever." Jason shakes his head as if trying to shake away unpleasant thoughts, and for a moment it almost seems like the green in his eyes is brighter somehow. "I  _was_  dead, but now I'm not. Partially thanks to a dip in a Lazarus Pit, but that technically came after the main resurrection I think. Anyway, surprise: I'm alive again! Also," he adds, giving a sharp grin, "this is Damian." He claps a hand lightly on one of his younger companion's shoulders. "He's your biological son with Talia. Congrats."

Bruce's brain, previously occupied with Jason's first few statements, grinds to an immediate halt with that proclamation.

 _Biological son with Talia_  plays on repeat in his mind for a long moment, before his brain decides that no, this is one dramatic revelation too many for a morning when he's only had three cups of coffee.

He dimly hears Jason shout for Alfred as his vision whites out and he tips forward in a dead faint.

* * *

"For the world's greatest detective," Jason tells Bruce three hours later, after the latter wakes up from his fainting spell and actually sits down to talk to both Jason and Damian (after running a whole slew of DNA and blood tests, of course, because he's  _Batman_ ), "you can be really stupid sometimes, y'know?"

"So I've been told," Bruce notes dryly, his gaze still shifting back and forth between Jason and Damian as if he's worried one or both of them might disappear in thin air. "In any case, I appreciate your…patience. With my obtuseness."

Jason snorts. "That's a very polite way of saying that you were being a paranoid suspicious bastard," he observes with a smirk.

"Language," Bruce says automatically, startling both of them.

Jason is the first to recover, giving a sharp bark of a laugh. "Well," he says, "that's nostalgic. Still not going to work on me, but as always you get points for effort, B."

Bruce chuckles under his breath before turning back to Damian. "I know I've said so already, but I am sorry for not knowing you before. I'm not sure what reasons Talia had for keeping your existence a secret from me, but I regret missing out on the chance to see you grow up."

"Your regret is noted and appreciated," Damian says, his tone awkward and stilted even as his cheeks flush pink.

Jason rolls his eyes and leans over to mess up the kid's hair. "Jeez, lighten up, kid. You, too, Bruce. You're both acting like you missed out on a lifetime's worth of shit. You're barely even  _ten_ , Damian. That gives you two idiots plenty of time to do that whole father-son bonding thing." He waves a hand vaguely between the two of them. "That's why Talia let me bring you with me in the first place, after all, because she wanted to give you a chance to meet Bruce and spend your formative years  _not_  in the League of Assassins."

Damian wrinkles his nose but nods in agreement. "Your reasoning is sound," he replies. "That does seem like something Mother would do, especially given her recent disagreements with Grandfather. Also, I…I would not object to spending more time here in Gotham as well." He sneaks a look over at Bruce. "If you do not object, of course."

Bruce stares at him. "Of course I don't object," he says at once. "You're my son." He turns to Alfred, who has been watching the proceedings with increasingly obvious amusement. "Can you make up a room for him?"

"Already done, Master Bruce," Alfred responds, giving a small smile. "Master Damian's room is on the second floor, across the hall from Jason's new room."

Jason straightens a bit at that. "What's wrong with my old room?" he asks suspiciously. "You didn't give that to my replacement, too, did you?" The Lazarus taint prickles across his skin angrily, but he shoves the sensation away, determined to not let it ruin this reunion. "I mean, not that it matters, I guess. It's just a room."

"Master Timothy did not get your room," Alfred informs him. "Rather, we never removed any of your things and so I believe staying in a new room for the time-being may be better for your…peace of mind."

 _It would be like sleeping in a mausoleum_ , Alfred very tactfully doesn't say, but Jason can hear the undercurrent of it in his voice.

"That…might not be such a bad idea," Jason agrees, relenting. It's been a long and emotionally grueling day and he's not sure he can handle going into his fifteen-year-old self's bedroom without tipping himself straight into some sort of mental health debacle.

"Indeed," Alfred replies, favoring Jason with a sad, sympathetic smile before turning to Bruce. "Shall I show Mater Damian to his room, sir?" he asks now. "It would be a good idea for him to become acquainted with the space sooner rather than later, I believe."

Bruce nods. "Good call, Alfred. Damian, would you mind following Alfred so that he can show you to your room? I need to speak to Jason alone for a moment anyway, and then maybe all of us can go out for a late brunch or something."

Damian hesitates for a moment, glancing at Jason uncertainly. "Will you be alright?"

Jason can't deny the warm feeling in his chest as the kid's poorly concealed concern. "It's fine," he assures Damian. "We're just going to talk a bit more. You don't need to worry."

Damian wrinkles his nose in a dubious expression, but eventually nods. "If you're sure," he says.

"It'll be fine," Jason repeats, reaching out to ruffle Damian's hair (and neatly dodging the kid's half-hearted retaliatory jab at his ribs) before gently steering him towards Alfred. "Go check out your new room and I'll see you in a few minutes. Okay?"

"Very well," Damian responds, relenting and turning to follow Alfred upstairs. "But if you need assistance, shout."

"Sure thing," Jason says, amused.

"You're good with him," Bruce observes once both Alfred and Damian are out of earshot.

Jason shrugs. "We get along okay, I guess." Then he grins. "You should've seen us a couple days ago, though. Hell, even just yesterday! He was worried that Talia was sending him away because he'd failed in his training, so he was lashing out a bit. Nearly pitched a fit at the airport, but we worked it out quickly enough."

"I have to admit," Bruce says, "I'm surprised that Talia allow him to leave at all. The Talia that I remember was always very loyal to the League and her father; her son undergoing assassin's training would have been a thing of great pride for her, not something to send her son away from."

Jason hums noncommittally. "I'm sure she's still proud of him," he remarks. "He's a good kid with great skills. Not great  _people_  skills," he adds with a wry smile, "but otherwise he's got a lot going for him." He considers his words carefully before adding, "It's just that she wants more for him than a lifetime of service to the League, I think. So when she saw that I was leaving the compound anyway, I guess that she decided that it was the opportune moment for her to get Damian out as well, by allowing me to take him."

"Would you have taken him with you even if she hadn't allowed you to?" Bruce asked, looking torn between curiosity and concern.

"Probably," Jason admits, vaguely sheepish about it but not enough for it to change his stance on the matter. "I mean, he's just a kid, B. And League training is fucking intense; a quarter of all trainees die before completing it. The second I laid eyes on him I knew that he shouldn't have to stay there. Thankfully, Talia agreed with me, and here we are."

"I still can't believe that  _you_  were with the League this entire time, too," Bruce murmurs.

"It's a hell of a thing," Jason agrees. "Definitely not what I would have expected. But then again, I never expected to get killed in the first place, much mysteriously resurrected, so what do I know?"

Bruce winces a bit (at Jason's cavalier attitude towards his own demise, presumably) but manages to give a small yet genuine smile, his eyes warm. "Well, you're back now; that's what matters. We'll talk about the rest of it another time."He wraps Jason in a tight hug. "Welcome home, Jason."

Jason swallows the sudden lump in his throat and returns the embrace. "Thanks, Dad."


End file.
